Alcoholic
by Nonadhesiveness
Summary: Short. Jane knows Lisbon needs reassurance, so he tries to help.


Disclaimer: the characters are not mine

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><p>Lisbon eyes the glass with distaste as it is carelessly slopped in front of her. Straight. Plain. Boring. Orange juice.<p>

Jane sips on a still water. He observes. He analyses. He comments. "You're not an alcoholic."

Her mouth twitches. Her gaze lowers. "I didn't say I was."

He doesn't listen. "That's why you've been avoiding alcohol recently. Ever since that case with Jeffery." He clarifies. "The chef." He continues. "You saw some similarities between him and yourself, and that scared you."

She smirks. "You got that from a glass of orange juice?" Her amusement is artificial.

He shrugs. "You hate orange juice." He pushes his glass towards her. "Here. Swap."

She concedes. A genuine smile. "Thanks."

He's tempted to broach the subject again. But he knows better. Instead he finds solace in flipping a coaster idly whilst watching a couple entering the bar.

Lisbon follows his gaze. She sees his expression changing. A jovial glimmer deepens the hue of his eyes; stretches the corners of his lips. "Go on then."

"Go on what?" He feigns innocence.

"That couple." She nods in their direction. "Tell me about them. Tell me what you've deduced." Her tone is taunting, daring him to demonstrate his talent.

Jane grins. He leans closer, lowering his voice. His breath tickles her cheek. "He's going to propose tonight, and she's going to say no. She's been seeing someone else, but hasn't figured out how to end it with him."

There is a pause. Lisbon considers the theory as she observes silently. It seems plausible. "Sounds like we're in for quite a show."

His attention returns to her. Nervous, though he can't explain why. He takes a chance. "Want to stick around and watch?"

Her eyes find his. A calm reassurance emanates. She smiles. "Sure, but you owe me twenty bucks if you're wrong." Ever persuaded by his sincerity.

The tension in his stomach ebbs away. Breezily confident. "And if I'm right?"

Teasingly. "Self-satisfaction not enough for you?" She quirks one eyebrow.

"Always." Pause. Glance away. Lay the bait. "It's interesting though…how confident you are in my ability. I mean, if I'm wrong you gain twenty dollars, but if I'm right…well, you've lost nothing."

She bites. Willingly lured. "Name your prize."

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><p>"Still not drinking." Jane's head appears around the door.<p>

Lisbon raises one hand to her chest, heart pounding. "Would you stop doing that?" She glowers at his cheery grin.

"You didn't join in with the traditional closed-case drink." He watches for her reaction, but she stares him down.

Shrugging. "I didn't feel like it. Last time I checked, that wasn't a crime."

He holds his hands in feign surrender. "Someone's getting defensive."

She counters sharply. "Well someone's being accusatory." Though a smile tinges her lips. She turns away.

Jane watches her silently. She's anxious. Busying herself. Arranging her desk. Obsessions are a sublimation of stress. "You're not an alcoholic."

Wryly. "You should try a new phrase; that one's becoming a bit cliché." She stops organizing, her hands held still atop a manila folder.

Casual tone. "Me? Cliché? Never." Now more serious. He's determined not to stray from the subject. "If you want to talk…"

Her expression softens, touched by his concern. "Jane, I'm fine." She isn't convincing. "Really."

"I know you are." He's more confident than she is. "I'm just saying…if you want to talk…we can talk about anything."

She smiles. Genuine. "Anything?"

He nods, insistent. "Even British girl bands of the nineties, if that's what you want."

She blushes. Only briefly. She hesitates, her stomach twisting. Then plunges. "Buy me a drink first?"

He brightens, outstretching his hand for hers.

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><p>Jane lowers two glasses of red onto the table top. He joins Lisbon in the booth, sitting across from her and watching.<p>

Her fingers glance along the neck, dance across the base; toying with the glass. She frowns, her gaze down. Reluctant.

Jane sips from his own glass. "You're not an alcoholic."

Clutching the glass, Lisbon drains it in one swift gulp. She's not an alcoholic.

Jane seems impressed, amused, perhaps shocked. Silence. Then probing. "Your father was an alcoholic."

Eyes upwards, piercing Jane. Nod. "My father was an alcoholic."

Jane lays his hand on the table, palm upwards. He waits for Lisbon's cautious movement, placing her hand tentatively on his. Squeeze, reassurance. "You're not your father."

"I know." Lisbon looks at their linked hands, a smile sparking on her lips. "But I could have been." Squeeze, gratitude. Something more.

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><p>Reviews are very much appreciated x<p> 


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